100 themes
by xXxXxXmxmXxXxXx
Summary: My friends and I started a 100 themes Death note based thing, and this will be a collection of all my submissions. some yaoi, varius pairings, etc. Don't like, don't read.
1. 73 I can't

73. I can't

Between the three of them, Near was a porcelain doll. Pale white skin, emotionless face and eyes…"The boy unable to cry," some of the Wammy kids used to call him. "The emotionless wonder." True as it was, there was more to it than that.

Near has Asperger's Syndrome. Asperger was a form of Autism, but didn't hold to the traditional stereotypes of autism. Near was extremely intelligent, and there was no delay in his speech or cognitive development. His social interaction was limited, he worked in patterns, and he was slightly clumsy. Accompanying the syndrome was Alexithymia, or the deficiency to understand, process, or describe emotions. Other than that, none would have suspected the mental disorder. None the less, Near was respected as the best student at Wammy's house.

But even the "perfect Near" had his share of problems. And most didn't catch up with him until he was working on the Kira case. He had never felt as helpless as he did then. He knew fear, and fleeting moments of happiness. But helplessness…? It just frustrated him. This new "L"…he knew something wasn't right. He was more than 90 sure he was, in fact, Kira. But what proof did he have other than a hunch? He had no hard evidence to convict the new "L." His frustration was palpable, even Lester and Gevanni could sense it. Lester had decided early on not to get involved with Near's thinking. Gevanni just did as he was told and left the issue alone at Near's request.

On one hand, Near wanted help from his two "friends" from Wammy's house. But it was hard to say where Mello and Matt had run off to. They were as difficult to catch as smoke in your palm, constantly evading. On the other hand, this was like a giant game to Near. A giant game of cat and mouse. But who was the Cat, and who was the mouse? Near…he wasn't even sure, himself. Was he the one running, or was he chasing?

He went on with this little debate for a long time. To find Mello, or not to find Mello…that was the hardest question he had to ask himself. He really did want Mello's help in the investigation, since he could only do so much on his own. But he also knew Mello had no interest in working WITH him—he had stated that fact before leaving Wammy's. So why would it change now?

It wasn't until that fateful day. The day he saw Mello walking up the hallway of the SPK headquarters though the video surveillance, his gun pointed at Linder's head as though she was a bargain tool. Their discussion was brief, Mello receiving his picture, and letting Near in on a little secret about the Death note. As he had left, Mello had promised to meet Near "at the final boss," as though the case was a sick video game. Near had agreed readily enough, but…as soon as the door slid closed, a pain shot though Near's chest. He couldn't really identify it; it made him want to jump up and scream, shout, anything to get Mello's attention again. Finally, he stood up and ran into the hallway, back the way Mello had come. The remaining SPK members went into a slight panic, but didn't follow after, and simply turned to the monitors.

"Mello!" The young man's voice echoed down the hall, his cry the loudest he had ever been as far back as he could remember. He felt a pain in his chest, but ignored it, determined to find his blond 

comrade. His feet, covered in not but socks, slipped slightly over the slick tile. "Mello!" After a few minutes of seemingly endless running, his feet gave out under him, and he sat on the floor, his knees folded. Every breath was a shaking gasp, his under-sized heart ramming against his ribs in protest. "I…I want…your help…" he gasped, clutching a stitch in his chest. He swallowed hard before continuing. "I…I need…your…help…" A soft echo of footsteps came from the barren hallway to his left. The fragile boy looked up at the individual. He reached up a shaking hand, grabbing one covered with a leather glove. "…Please…" he begged.

Mello stared down at his rival, ice blue eyes, normally narrowed in anger or disgust, were soft, almost in pity. He sighed heavily, moving his hair out of his face. "…Near…"

"I need…your help…catching…Kira…" Near panted again, pulling Mello down to his level. "I know you…have no intention…of working with…me…but…I need you…" His thin arms wrapped around Mello's neck, in a final plead. "please, Mello?"

Mello was silent. There was nothing to say. With a sigh, hinting at not annoyance, but apology, the other man's arms wrapped around Near's waist, holding him. "I can't," he whispered.

"why?"

"…" Mello had no answer.

"This new L is Kira, Mello. And I won't let some…_murderer_ disgrace his names like this…" Near pulled away, looking Mello in the eye. "are going to let that happen?"

Mello stared for a moment, his expression blank. He hugged Near again as he stood, lifting the young man off the floor. "Matt and I are behind you," he whispered, giving Near a gentle squeeze. "You're not alone. We have your back. We _will_ get Kira. I know it." Slowly, he placed the boy on his feet again, kissed the top of his head, and walked out. Near stared after, listening to Mello's footfalls. He watched, until he could no longer see Mello. Once the blond was out of sight, he listened. _Thump…thump…thump…_ Until the mafia-man's steps were gone.

Something came over Near then. He didn't know what, but he felt as though something broke inside. He had already lost L. And as dangerous as this case was, as much as he wanted Mello's help…he was scared of losing him.

--

Less than a week later, Near received news that Mello had been killed. Gevanni told him what he knew about what happened; about Takada's kidnapping, the fire… And as much as Near wanted to feel nothing…he felt _something_. Something deep in the cockles of his heart, he felt something. He waited…and waited…and waited…until Gevanni finally left. He waited until he was alone in the bedroom he had been supplied. He waited until it was completely dark, and he couldn't even see the silhouette of the bed's head board.

And, for the first time he could remember…he cried. And then he began to wish he had never given Mello back his photo. _'Dear Mello.'_ A small, shattering sound echoed in Near's ears, and though he didn't know what it was…it only made him cry that much more.


	2. 1 Introduction

Being first to some is the same as being last. Because you're first just means you never need to improve. Nothing is left. I am that nothing left.

First to succeed, and first to become. B. Backup.

The definition in the dictionary of the word, "backup" states: "to copy as a precaution to failure."

Damn, how I hate that word.

I am not a copy—I am an original, the only one who attempts to surpass the one we are cloned to become. I do not want to become L, like my peers—I want to SURPASS, and be BETTER than L. I will surpass, because L will not fail. And there will be no "backup."

God, I hate that word.

But if one is to surpass the world's greatest detective, what is the first step one must take? We are raised and trained to be him. If we know no different…where do we go? On our own. Taking our own paths.

In retrospect, there were probably only two people who could have ever tried to stop me from becoming the monster I turned into. One was too far away and disconnected to know how I was silently plotting inside, deciding how to destroy him. The other…

Everyone called him A. His name was really Adrien Anthonie Cascadia. He was Italian, and one of the most caring and selfless kids in Wammy's house. He had what yaoi fan girls would call the "uke factor." He was effeminate, self-conscious, and a bit clumsy. He wanted everyone to be happy, and made sure of it, no matter how shitty he felt. He was, in some ways, everyone's teddy bear to cuddle when they felt horrible. But even with his advantages he was still human. He had severe depression, though he never let anyone know. He was a danger to himself. I think if I hadn't had found him like that, then I…

I think I need to explain. Let's Tarintino this story and go back to the beginning. Back to when I first met Adrien.

There had been a lot of activity that day, mostly with adoption business. I wanted nothing to do with it, so I kept to my room. The hullabaloo died down around 2 in the afternoon, and that was great, because I was hungry. So I snuck into the kitchens and made a Strawberry Jam sandwich. No peanut butter—just bread and strawberry jam. I was on my way back to my room when I happened to glance in the common room.

I had been at Wammy's for quite some time, and I thought I had known everyone there. Apparently not, since I didn't recognize the strawberry blond boy sitting at the piano, playing Beethoven's fifth with precise accuracy. I was mildly intrigued—he was roughly my age (I was eight at the time), and no eight year old should be able to play Beethoven with such perfection. Taking a bite of my sandwich, I sauntered in, standing behind him for a few moments, munching, until he stopped and turned to me. He was smiling happily. "What do you think?" he asked, tucking his hands in his lap. "Did I do well?"

I nodded vaguely, thoroughly impressed. I popped the final bite of my sandwich in my mouth, dusting of my hands with my jeans. "I have to admit," I muttered passed the food. "I've been here a while, but I have never seen you around before."

He smiled again, holding out his hand. "I'm Adrien." He clapped a hand over his mouth quickly. "I mean, I'm A."

I raised a brow, taking his hand. "Adrien?" I shrugged. At least he had a normal name. "I'm-"

"Beyond Birthday," he interrupted. I blinked rapidly, wondering for a moment if he had the same curse I did. "I've heard about you from the others." I rolled my eyes. "They told me about your eyes." I snorted, ready to walk away. "I think they're cool looking." I stopped and stared. He was smiling. He leaned in a bit to whisper to me. "Can you really see when someone will die?"

I nodded slowly. "Their real names too." I glanced up. "Your full name is Adrien Anthonie Cascadia."

He laughed. "Yup!" He clapped once. "So, out of curiosity, how long until I die?"

That's what had me confused. Being a child like everyone else here, he should have had a longer life span. It should have been longer than Roger's or Watari's. But…it was short. Four or five more years maybe. I glanced down at his face again. He was still waiting, kicking his feet. I smiled mischievously. "That's some morbid fascination, Adrien. Wanting to know when you will die, I mean."

Adrien shrugged, giggling a bit. "Well, I need to be prepared!" Was his simple answer. "I don't want to die before I get to achieve my life's ambitions!" He hopped off the piano bench, taking my hand. "Promise to tell me one day?"

Yeah, that'd go over well. _Guess what Adrien?! Remember when you wanted to know when you'll die? Well, at that time it was four or five years, so guess what? YOU'RE FUCKED!_ Yeah, that'd be just _fabulous_. "Sure," I muttered, despite my inner rambling. "Maybe one day I'll tell you."

He giggled again, the bell-like sound becoming infectious. He swung our hands. "Does that mean we're friends?"

I stared, my eyes blinking rapidly. No one had ever wanted to be my friend before. No one ever wanted to do with me. Me and my…my curse. "…Friends…?" The word sounded foreign on my tongue, like a language I had never heard but, oddly enough, liked. A smile danced across my lips. I liked the sound of it. "Yeah…" I muttered slowly. "We're friends, Adrien."

The little Italian released my hand before clapping happily and hugging me, squishing our faces together. Normally, such close contact would have bothered me, but for some reason, I liked being this close. I had a friend. It was, needless to say, a first for me.

And I liked it.


	3. 17 Blood

17. Blood

Crimson Liquid erupted from the crevice, much like magma from a volcano, spilling over once perfect valleys of silken ivory. Eyes were open wide in horror, staring up, almost pleading with what little light was left there. Pair of glasses was slipped onto the girl's face before she was turned onto her front to stare blankly at the floor.

There was a soft humming sound from the killer, who stood briefly, pulling a straw doll—a Wara ningyo—from his pocket, followed by a nail. He padded over to the wall across from the door, planning out to position of the wara ningyo. Deciding the perfect spot, he cackled a bit, grabbing the nearest item, and using it as a hammer, nailing the straw doll to the wall. He smiled quirkily at his work, humming a tuneless song to himself. Making this murder spree confusing was what he loved. He glanced back at the dead girl, his garnet eyes narrowing on the small pool of blood. Such a beautiful shade of red…dark…almost like his jam. An elated giggle leapt to his lips as he finished his work, hammering a second Wara Ningyo to a wall. Then a third. He cleaned up the majority of the mess, and cleaned anything that would trace him, before scampering out of the room, locking the door from the inside as he left. He slipped into the kitchen, sliding the fridge open and snatching a jar out of it. He chuckled again as he opened the jar of strawberry jam, slipping out of the house.

Once he was back in the alley, he cackled a bit, digging two fingers into the jar and scooping at some of the fruity contents. He rolled the sugary spread between his fingers, watching the scarlet substance trickle down his hand. His lips formed a deranged smile, the site reminding him of the dripping blood from his knife. Then he blinked a bit, noting the blood still on his hand, which the jam was beginning to overlap. Being the curious creature he was, he wondered what the combination would taste like. The iron, metallic taste of blood, and the sweet, syrupy taste of Strawberry jam. An odd combination, yes, but well worth an experiment. He licked at his hand calmly, scooping up the blood-and-jam mixture into his mouth. Bitter, but not too unpleasant. Not something he would recommend. Slightly disgusted, he wiped his hands on his blue jeans and white shirt, staining the clothing even more than it already was. He stared down at the stains, blinking rapidly. He pressed his fingers over a glistening spot, still soaked with his victim's blood. He ran the liquid over his fingers, smiling with morbid fascination. He then turned to the wall behind him, pressing his blood soiled fingers to the wall, running them down the bricks in a line. The line was followed by two curves. Cackling, he then licked his fingers, admiring his work.

B.

Beyond Birthday.

That's what it stood for.

Pleased with himself, he walked away, scooping more Strawberry Jam in his mouth. He wondered in the back of his mind if L would find that clue. He doubted it. Besides, it's not like he expected L to solve the case.

There was one more murder left before L was to get involved.


End file.
